Hope in the Holler Read online

  Samantha Rose was sitting outside on the front stoop smoking a cigarette with the box marked SHRED sitting at her feet. She took a last puff and threw the butt into the yard. “You get along all right at school?”

  “Yes.”

  She pointed next to her. “Have a seat.”

  The step was only slightly wider than Samantha Rose, so I ended up with one leg slung over into the weeds.

  She leaned down into the box and pulled out a piece of plastic. “I found this in your mama’s things.” She tossed it into my lap.

  “Her checkbook?”

  “Yeah. She have anything left? Or a savings account?”

  “She closed it all right before she died.” My voice cracked on that last word.

  “Figures.” She looked at me with narrowed eyes. “She give you any money?”

  “No. There wasn’t any to give once we’d paid the rent and the funeral home.”

  She snorted. “I guess Ronelda wasn’t living so high on the hog after all.”

  I bit my lip. I wanted to tell her that at least our fridge was always full with real food. “Is that it? I’ve got homework.”

  Her head dipped once for yes. “Don’t forget about the kitchen. And take that box out back. Hoyt can take it to the dump with the other garbage.”

  The kitchen was an epic disaster. It took me a full two hours to wash the dirty dishes piled on the counter, and by the time I’d stuffed them into cabinets, and stacked the pans under the sink, my arms felt like Silly String. The whole job was a waste of effort though, since it made about as much difference as spraying perfume on an outhouse.

  I spread Mama’s blanket on my bed and sat down crisscross applesauce. The homework portion of my conversation with Samantha Rose had been a lie. I’d finished it all in my last class before the bell rang. Hanging out at the hospital with nothing to do had put me way ahead in my schoolwork.

  The checkbook dug into my back from where I’d stuffed it into my pocket. I opened it up and looked at the figures. Just seeing Mama’s handwriting made my breath catch.

  I turned to the last page. The final entry was for twenty-three dollars and seventy-five cents to Walmart. Mama had been sick that morning but she’d insisted we go buy me a new pair of jeans. I’d said the pair I had was fine. Short, yes, but if I rolled them up they could pass for capris and who cared what Megan Harroway said anyway. But Mama wouldn’t be persuaded otherwise.

  I flipped through the check register. It was like a time machine. She’d paid rent on the first; before that there was a check to the Piggly Wiggly. There were deposits from her Walmart paycheck every two weeks until a month ago when she got too ill to go in at all. A few months before that, there was a payment to the Andro Credit Union for the car. The car was gone now, too.

  I turned back another page. Thirty dollars went for my fifth-grade yearbook that I’d told her I didn’t need, but she wouldn’t listen.

  “I never got one when I was a kid and it was the worst, Wavie. Don’t tell me you want to sit there while everyone else gets all those squirrelly signatures. I know better.”

  Of course she’d been right.

  I flipped another page and found a deposit for one hundred dollars. The entry read Bowman. I tapped the checkbook against my knee, thinking. The name didn’t ring a bell. I looked at the date. The deposit had been made a week before my birthday. Mama had taken me to the pizza place next to the mall. Afterward we’d seen a movie, and not the cheap kind that comes out months after everyone has already seen it, but a brand-new one. I’d wondered how we could afford it, but I wasn’t going to ask, not when a deep dish supreme was on the line.

  Another page turn, another entry with the same Bowman written beside it, one hundred dollars at Christmas, then nothing for the year until my birthday again. There was another entry for the previous Christmas, at the beginning of the checkbook. Someone named Bowman had been sending my mom one hundred dollars for the last two years, maybe more, on my birthday and Christmas.

  I uncrossed my legs and stood up. The tingling running up my backside could have been from standing suddenly, but I didn’t think so. Mama had said that there was no family, yet here I stood. I hated thinking it, but I had to face facts. If Mama had lied about Samantha Rose, maybe she’d lied about other things, too. Like maybe my dad hadn’t died before I was born, and maybe his name was Bowman.

  Mama gone, a new aunt and a live dad? Since Mama had died, I’d been spinning faster than a merry-go-round pony. No wonder I was dizzy.

  CHAPTER TEN

  I didn’t ask Mama about my dad very often because it made her too sad. One of the last times I did, I remember her telling me, Jud? He was one of the good ones. His family was the worst, but he was cut from a different cloth.

  Is there a family resemblance?

  You have his smile, she said. And he was funny and optimistic, like you.

  So all I really knew about my father was that he’d supposedly died in a tragic accident before I was born.

  Hope had burned me blacker than Mrs. Florence’s biscuits before, but the words what if kept floating through my brain. What if he was alive? What if he wanted to see me? What if he didn’t?

  I put the checkbook in my back pocket. Looking for my dad would give me something to do besides watching the dogs chase one another around the yard. I didn’t have to contact him, but it wouldn’t hurt to have the option. Samantha Rose was in the living room fussing with Hoyt. If she saw me, there was no telling what disgusting chore she’d have me do next. I opened my bedroom window and crawled out over the sill.

  • • •

  ZANE’S PICKUP, WITH Hoyt’s arm hanging out the passenger-side window, was heading down the dirt road loaded with the trash from the backyard. I covered my face from the dust and cut through the empty lot until I was standing in front of Gilbert’s trailer.

  A wiry older woman with short gray hair opened the door. She smiled sweetly. “Yes?”

  “Hi. I’m Wavie Conley from next door. Is Gilbert home?”

  “How do, Wavie Conley. I’m his gran. Hang on a minute.” She turned, slow as molasses, and yelled into the room. “Gilbert! You got a friend on the doorstep!”

  A few minutes later, Gilbert appeared in the doorway eating a piece of bologna. “Hey, Wavie. You decide to go exploring in the woods with me?”

  I shook my head. “No. I’ve figured out what I want. How I want you to pay me back.”

  “All right.” He rolled up the bologna and stuck it in the side of his mouth like a cigar. “How?”

  I took a deep breath. “I want you to help me find my daddy.”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of giving you my fries at lunch, but I guess that’ll do.” He pulled the door closed and came down the steps. “Gran pretends she can’t hear, but she listens in on everybody.”

  He leaned against the trailer. “When did you see him last?”

  “Never.”

  “Oh.” Gilbert chewed his bologna, thinking. “You think he’s somebody your mama ran around with back in Andro?”

  I shrugged. “No. She said she parted ways with the family after I was born, so I think he must have been from around here.”

  “You don’t want to ask Samantha Rose?” He shook his head, answering his own question. “Nah, you can’t trust her. C’mon.”

  I followed him through the weeds. “Where we going?”

  “As much as I hate to admit it, Camille was right. We’re going to need her help for something this big.”

  “Because she’s so smart.”

  “No. Because we’ll need to look him up online. Nobody in the Holler has a computer, but Camille helps in the library at school. She’ll have the passwords.”

  • • •

  IF CAMILLE WAS surprised at finding us at her bedroom door, she didn’t show it.

  A little boy of
around five had announced his name was Edgar and led us through the trailer. Her double-wide was way nicer than anything back in Castle Fields Mobile Home Park. It was opposite Samantha Rose’s house in every way imaginable.

  It was clean.

  It was new.

  It smelled delicious.

  Gilbert sniffed the air. “Does your house always smell this good? I’m about to lick the wallpaper!”

  “Always. Dad’s the chef at the restaurant, but my mother is just as good and I’m learning.”

  I looked around Camille’s room. Star Wars posters were hanging nicely on every wall. “You like those movies?”

  “They’re okay. I want to be an aerospace engineer when I get older.” She motioned for me to sit on the bed. “Gilbert, you can sit on the floor.”

  “If you think that bothers me, think again,” Gilbert said. “I don’t want your girl cooties anyway.” He sat on the carpet and put his back against the wall. “If I was able to use the computer at school, I wouldn’t be here now. Wavie needs help finding her daddy.”

  “That’s what you get for trying to watch fishing videos during Technology class,” Camille said. “I’ll do an Internet search tomorrow. Where’d you see him last?”

  “Nowhere. I’ve never met him.”

  Camille didn’t seem fazed by that news. “What do you know about him?”

  I sighed. “Nothing, really.”

  “But you have a name, right?” Camille asked.

  “Maybe. I think it’s Jud Bowman.”

  “That’s a start. What else did your mama tell you about him?”

  “Not much. Mainly that he was dead.”

  “That’s gonna make finding him a little tougher,” Gilbert said.

  Camille stared at me. “Why are you looking for a dead father?”

  I explained about finding the checkbook, and how Mama had also told me there was no family. “If she didn’t tell me the truth about Samantha Rose,” I said, “maybe she didn’t tell me the truth about my dad.” Outing Mama as a possible liar didn’t sit well with me, but I didn’t see any way around it.

  “Gran didn’t live here when your mama did, but I can ask her if she knows of any Bowmans,” Gilbert said.

  “Can I be honest?” Camille asked.

  “That’s another one of those weird things people say,” Gilbert said. “Who says please lie?”

  Camille ignored him. “Wavie, your mother might have had a good reason to keep you away from him.”

  “Yeah. She didn’t mention Samantha Rose, did she?” Gilbert said. “Don’t take a rocket surgeon to see why.”

  “Rocket scientist,” Camille corrected.

  “Ain’t that what I said?” Gilbert asked. “Anyway, there’s another possibility. He really could be dead.”

  “Well, somebody has been sending me a hundred dollars on my birthday and Christmas,” I said. “Can you imagine Samantha Rose doing that?”

  “I can imagine Samantha Rose stomping on your cake and making you eat the candles,” Gilbert said, “but not sending money.” He crossed his arms and frowned. “If we find your daddy, that means you’ll leave.”

  “You’re thinking way too far ahead,” I said. “I’m not a hundred percent sure I want to meet him.”

  “If your dad is alive and not some scary criminal,” said Camille, “why hasn’t he stepped in now that your mom is, uh, gone?”

  “Maybe he doesn’t know her mom died,” Gilbert said.

  “Maybe he’s alive, maybe he doesn’t know. There’s an awful lot of maybes,” Camille said.

  They were making me so woozy from the back-and-forth it was a relief to see a woman I assumed was Mrs. Rodriguez standing in the doorway.

  “You are Wavie, yes?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She gave me a thousand-watt smile. “Welcome. We needed more niñas, right, Camille?”

  Gilbert huffed. “I know what niña means—girl.”

  Mrs. Rodriguez wiped her hands on her apron. “I did not mean to offend, Gilbert. Would some chorizo queso help?”

  “I don’t know what that is, but if it’s what’s smelling up your house, count me in!”

  Camille nodded. “Gracias, Mamá. We’ll be right there.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Why aren’t you eating?” Samantha Rose asked. “Something wrong with your mac and cheese?”

  “I had a snack at Camille’s.”

  “Who?” Uncle Philson shouted.

  “The Mexicans moved in Tom Fuller’s place,” Samantha Rose said.

  “Oh.”

  “Wha’d you have?” Hoyt asked, smirking. “Beans and rice?”

  I rubbed my foot back and forth against a piece of torn linoleum. “Chorizo queso, actually.” I smirked back. “It was delicioso.”

  “Oooh,” Hoyt said. “Aren’t you highfalutin?”

  Samantha Rose dabbed her napkin at a cheesy patch on her lip. “How y’all communicate with them speaking Spanish and whatnot?”

  “They speak English. Geez,” I said. “And Camille’s one of the smartest kids in school.”

  “Well, excuse me,” Samantha Rose said. “How am I supposed to know what they can and can’t do?”

  “Milk!” Uncle Philson yelled.

  Hoyt passed the carton across the table. “Why they got to move here anyway?” he asked. “Zane says before long Mexicans will take away all our jobs.”

  “Ha! That dropout makes a scarecrow look like a genius,” Samantha Rose said. “Besides, you ain’t got a job to start with. They going to take away your sitting on the couch doing nothing all day?”

  I pressed my lips together trying not to laugh. There was only one thing that was okay about Samantha Rose—Hoyt wasn’t safe from her sharp tongue either.

  “I reckon Zane has a say. He’s working.”

  “Mr. Rodriguez doesn’t need Zane’s mining job,” I said. “Gilbert says their restaurant is packed on the weekends.”

  “If Smelbert said it, then it must be true,” Hoyt said.

  “Why do you always pick on Gilbert?” I asked. “You don’t smell like a field of lavender yourself.”

  “Enough! Do y’all ever stop flapping your gums?” Samantha Rose yelled. She looked at me. “I thought you were gonna clean the kitchen this afternoon, sugar.”

  “I did.”

  “Then why is there a pile of dishes on the countertop?”

  I pointed to Hoyt. “He brought those out of his room before dinner.”

  Samantha Rose frowned. “Nobody likes a tattletale, Wavie. We don’t rat out people in Conley Holler, especially not family.” She emphasized the word family.

  Hoyt grinned.

  “Why’re you grinning like a possum?” Samantha Rose asked. “Did you take the trash to the dump?”

  “Most of it,” Hoyt said. “Zane’s truck ain’t all that big.”

  “The dogs got into the bag that was left,” I said. “Trash is all over out there.”

  “You know what’s important in Conley Holler?” Samantha Rose turned to me. “Minding your own business, that’s what.”

  Hoyt snorted. “Wavie’s minding the dog’s business.”

  Samantha Rose laughed, and even Uncle Philson grinned, revealing a piece of noodle between two teeth.

  “You mind going out and picking it up, hon?” Samantha Rose asked. “It’ll give you time to think.”

  I didn’t bother to argue. Samantha Rose wouldn’t care that I had the beginnings of a blister where my sneaker was too tight or that the temperature had dropped. Besides, she was right. While I worked I’d think about a lot of things. Like finding my dad and leaving Convict Holler forever.

  • • •

  FOR A COUPLE that didn’t work or leave the house much, my aunt and uncle managed to generate a bunch of trash.
I walked back and forth picking up paper plates and food wrappers. Spotted One and Spotted Two sniffed at my jeans as I walked.

  “You two can just go back and crawl under a car,” I said, shaking my finger. “It’s your fault I’m out here.”

  Spotted Two licked my hand.

  “Really?” I wiped the slobber off on my pants. “That’s a pretty gross way to say you’re sorry.”

  The ripped bag was still lying in the front yard like a dead animal with its guts strewn about. I kicked a can toward it. Maybe I’d stay out here all night and catch pneumonia. Or crawl under the rusted car between the dogs—at least they liked me—and sleep forever.

  Mama had called me an optimist, but I wasn’t crazy. I was wising up fast and getting used to the fact that Samantha Rose wasn’t going to like me no matter how much cleaning or weeding I did.

  I finished picking up the trash and threw the bag against the house, being careful to miss the flower beds. Now that I’d cleaned out the weeds, the flowers were trying to make a comeback. I knelt down and brushed my fingers across a leaf of the lamb’s ear thinking of what Mama could have done with this place.

  She’d worked in the nursery department at Walmart and was so good at bringing plants back to life, her manager took to calling her Daisy Do-Over.

  My thumb wasn’t as green as hers, but she would have been proud of what I’d done with the yard so far. I plucked the leaf and stood, rubbing its soft surface against my face. I was supposed to be thinking of finding my dad, but all I could think about was Mama—and how everything I saw and did now would always be something I couldn’t share with her.

  I looked toward Gilbert’s and Camille’s and tried my best to hog-tie the jealousy I was feeling. Gilbert’s grandma had practically oozed kindness and Mrs. Rodriguez had been all smiles and hugs and good-smelling food. They all had each other and I didn’t have anybody.

  I was staring so hard toward Gilbert’s and Camille’s that at first I didn’t notice Angel Davis on the edge of the woods. Angel looked like a human version of the walking stick insect. He was skin and bones and seemed even taller than he had on his porch. His hair fell in a gray tangled mess past his shoulders. If a family of birds didn’t live in his beard they were wasting an opportunity.